


Dress Up To Waterline

by Synekdokee



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Michael's middle name is denial, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevor wears a dress, Michael is deeply conflicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress Up To Waterline

Morning after a tamer-than-usual night out with Trevor, Michael woke up blessedly headache-free and to the sounds of someone moving around downstairs. He got up, tugged on a pair sweats and a tee, and made his way down, surprised to see the guest room empty.  
  
Someone was walking around in the kitchen. The sound of high heels on tiles raised equal feelings of hope and dread in Michael - that maybe Amanda had returned. But the break had been a mutual idea, and for her to show up without calling...  
  
He rounded the corner, preparing himself for confrontation and-  
  
He froze. Stared, jaw gaping, because whatever it was he was seeing couldn't possibly even be real.  
  
Leaning against the kitchen counter with his elbows, newspaper in hand, was Trevor. And if the newspaper hadn't been weird enough, what Trevor was wearing would've done the job on its own.  
  
A midnight-black cocktail dress, cut to form, hung to ever groove and jut of Trevor's body. The front of it was draped lightly in folds, meant to accentuate cleavage but instead stretched tight across Trevor's broad chest. The straps were taut against Trevor's clavicles, and looked oddly delicate against his shoulders and thick neck.  
  
The lower half of the dress clung tight to Trevor's hips, the sharp grooves of his hip-bones clearly visible. And lower... Michael let his eyes skip over the subtle bulge between Trevor's thighs and followed his long legs down, down, until his gaze met a pair of shiny black pumps, the stiletto heel of the other shoe clearly visible the way Trevor's right leg was bent at the knee, the foot resting on the tip of the shoe.  
  
Michael felt his cock give a futile twitch as he took in the sight.  
  
"Take a picture, it'll last you longer."  
  
Michael snapped his gaze up. "What the fuck are you doing," he said weakly. Trevor shot him a hard look.  
  
"Reading about current affairs, the fuck it look like?"  
  
"I mean," Michael tried again, "what the fuck are you wearing?"  
  
Trevor grinned sharply. "It's a dress! What, you don't like it?"  
  
"..." Michael said.  
  
Trevor folded the news paper and pointed it at him. "You, my friend, are  a hypocrite!"  
  
Michael stared. "Me?!"  
  
"Yes _you_. You pretend to be all liberal and accepting, but show you a guy who doesn't conform to patriarchal gender roles and you start clutching your pearls!"  
  
"Okay, first of all, when have you ever conformed to anything? Second, don't start that feminist bullshit with me, you and I both know you enjoy the fruits of this patriarchal society just as much as the next guy."  
  
He took a deep breath. "Also. It kinda suits you."  
  
Trevor raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I'm serious, you uh. You carry it well." Michael found his eyes drawn back to the high heels. "They er. They flatter your calves."  
  
Trevor shot him a withering glare. "Mock all you want, my friend. Mock away."  
  
Michael threw his hands up. He wanted a drink. Was about to get one, when Trevor turned around to get something from the cupboard and exposed his back to Michael.  
  
Michael's mouth went dry about as fast as his dick went hard. The dress had a deeply cut back, showing off the muscles, the wide expanse of tan skin. The fabric of the dress pulled tight over Trevor's ass. And beneath the hem, Trevor's thick thighs and his - goddamnit, _shapely_ \- calves.  
  
Michael swallowed, his throat like sandpaper. He felt greatly confused, but his libido seemed to have made up its mind.  
  
"Uh. I gotta. I have a. Thing. Upstairs," he mumbled, rushing out of the kitchen as fast as his raging erection allowed.  
  
  
Upstairs, in the bathroom, he leaned against the sink, pressing his cock against the hard stone of the counter and muffled a moan.  
  
He was not gonna jerk off to a guy in a dress. He was _not_. His best friend. His psychotic best friend. His psychotic best friend in a dress. A dress that showed off his broad shoulders, every shift of muscle, even his flaccid cock that was nicely shaped even when it wasn't hard and-  
  
Fuck.  
  
He tugged open the strings of his sweats and shoved his hand in, gripping himself and stroking quickly.  
  
"Just get it over with," he muttered. "Jesus Townley, what the fuck is wrong with you, think of Amanda, think of that brunette at the club..."  
  
He clung on to the thoughts of soft breasts, pert nipples between his lips, but he kep slipping to firm muscle under silky fabric. With a frustrated growl he slammed his hand into the mirror, staring at his own flushed face.  
  
"Fuck," he murmured. He'd wanted to push Trevor against the kitchen counter, to hike up that fucking dress, push his pants down and shove himself between Trevor's firm thighs.  
  
He moaned loudly, forgetting himself, and then bit his lip. He stroked himself, mind running rampant with thoughts of Trevor (in a fucking dress!). In his fantasy he sunk his teeth into the meaty curve of Trevor's neck, drawing a grunt from him. Trevor would be bucking against the counter, the muscles of his arms bulging as he braced himself, his thighs around Michael's prick, and Michael would come, staining Trevor's skin and the dress, his seed white against the black fabric-  
  
With a sharp groan, Michael came, his palm catching his come as he sagged against the counter on one elbow.  
  
He stared himself in the mirror.  
  
"I need more therapy," he told his reflection.


End file.
